


You Can't Stop The Water (From Pulling You Under)

by I_Am_Titanium



Series: Nothing's Fair In Love and War [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon - Book, Canon Rewrite, Drunken Shenanigans, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Magical Sex Toys, Master/Pet, Multiple Orgasms, My Headcanon: They Are Bitter Exes, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Relationship(s), Porn with Feelings, Sorry In Advance If I Offended Any Yen/Geralt Shippers, Strap-Ons, Telapathy, Way To Go Phil, but I'm keeping Triss' red hair because I'm weak for gingers don't judge me, confessions of feelings, explicit consent is sexy af don't let anyone tell you otherwise kids, great way to communicate when your mouth is busy elsewhere lol, it stopped being a pwp when this shit turned 10k and they still weren't fucking, let me know if I missed anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23855182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_Titanium/pseuds/I_Am_Titanium
Summary: "…I loved you.""How surprising.""Philippa.""Good gods, Triss, what exactly are you expecting me to say? You are well aware it is not going to happen.""…I know."OrThey ran into each other at Beltane and shit happened.
Relationships: Philippa Eilhart/Triss Merigold
Series: Nothing's Fair In Love and War [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719046
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	You Can't Stop The Water (From Pulling You Under)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SapphireSmoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireSmoke/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [Guess I Was Wrong Somehow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23855686) by [I_Am_Titanium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_Titanium/pseuds/I_Am_Titanium)
  * Inspired by [Bound](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725679) by [SapphireSmoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireSmoke/pseuds/SapphireSmoke). 



> First of all, I'd like to thank SapphireSmoke again for the amazing Merihart work, Bound, which kind of inspired this supposed-to-be-a-short-pwp-but-then-again-shit-happened fic. It may even be considered to be the fanfic of fanfic since I borrowed many headcanons of the fic with and without my knowledge. 
> 
> The second reason this fic exists, however, is a sad one, and I will elaborate more in an individual post after this fic in the series. It may seem irrelevant to many of you, but the devastating blow on our Chinese fanwork community has been depressive in the past two months and I want to do something to record this shameful event in a more permanent way.
> 
> Back to the topic of the fic itself. I wrote it in a month after the event took place at the end of February when I was eagerly following the update of Bound until I was told I could not. I have played tw3 twice and read through the entire 7 books during the quarantine. These two sorceresses touched me in so many ways. I have been in love with Triss the moment I was in this fandom and Philippa is always Philippa, our beloved owl lady. Recently I wrote a long post on Tumblr about all the canon-ish Merihart scenes in the book (and one in-game) and frankly, it surprised me. They are interwoven not unlike the way Geralt and Yennefr are but without the djinn magic.
> 
> However, the guilty confession here is that I don't like Yen/Geralt ship. They have their sweet moments but some things about them make me uncomfortable. I don't hate neither of them, per se, but I did in a way "steal" something that belongs to them and put it right here. I did it as respectable as I could and if I did not feel free to tell me about it, really.
> 
> This is getting too long. Off you go then! Remember to leave something for me, please? Comments would be super appreciated!

A bloody dove.

Triss Merigold had made many decisions in her short decades of life regarding too many people and too many events, and this—reflecting on the choices she made—had also happened too often that she no longer bothered to list them off. Someone whose name started with G. A battle she didn’t know if it was for her to fight even now. A country she belonged, its name starting with T. Well, used to.

At least that was a solid _used to._ Temeria did not exist anymore, did it? And even what that Vernon Roche was doing with his guerrilla force, something most people did not know but she had her way, could not magically turn everything around. Nobody could. Nilfgaard’s black boot stomped anything unfortunate to stand in their way into the dust and marched northward. And another kind of panic suffused here in Novigrad, this supposedly Redanian and also a supposedly independent city. This was the world it was reduced to. The entire Continent was a shithole.

Especially in godforsaken Novigrad. Its smell was sufficient to qualify this honorable title. Triss had been living here for three months, and not a day went by when she did not wish she could be literally anywhere else in the world. The witch hunters latched onto any intel that excited their twisted minds like some kind of sick dogs. The only thing they need to complete that image was to press their nose on the piss-drenched bricks to sniff out any magic users. And most disastrously, she was indeed a witch. Just like how she changed her residence three times when she first tried to settle down in the city, after finally finding a place that was semi-reliable, she staying in all day and never leaving the house unless absolutely necessary was also a measure out of precaution. She had no one in the big city, and trained mercenaries and skilled killers drooled over any chance to send her to the giant pyre that was impossible to ignore on the plaza every time she was obliged to go out and… make her living, so to speak. Many men and women she knew had gone there, be it friends or acquaintances she only met once during some mage gathering, and it certainly had affected her sentiment and panic. She always forced herself to quickly walk past the notice board, but she could never completely filter out the crowd. _You are the next…_

No, she could not think like that. She could not _afford_ to think like that. The entire witch hunt was an uncontrolled wildfire, but no fire was fierce enough to scorch the roots. There were at least two hundred more mages who used to dream about seeking refuge in the city just like her, and although that would certainly remain a dream now, they were far from hopeless. If, no, when they stored enough money and found a ship with a bold enough captain, they could always sail to Kovir, the kingdom that was far enough to remain truly neutral in this frenzied war. They could leave what was left of their past lives, no matter how little that part was, and have a fresh start in a brand new country. Mages had lives longer than the rises and falls of kingdoms—there was still the slightest chance that this would turn out to be one of many slight mishaps in their long lives, even though personally Triss highly doubted that.

Anyway, she had to eat. The _free_ city was nowhere near free. All those crazy prices plus all kinds of taxes and the rent plus some hush money for the landlord and his wife had forced the former court mage to stoop to something more… down to earth.

Like right now, a bloody dove. A pigeon some viscount’s spoiled daughter had acquired by chance but lost it after a few days. According to the notice, it was an extremely beautiful pigeon, but that was not the only thing beautiful about the notice. A whole pouch of a thousand newly forged Novigrad crowns for something so trivial that she could achieve with a blink of an eye while some peasants no doubt tried to swindle some coin with a common pigeon, since the notice stayed stubbornly on board for weeks since she last went out, almost _begging_ her to take it. And after an entire night of toss and turn fighting an internal battle, she eventually took the advantage of the foggy dawn when the patrolling soldiers were beyond exhaustion and did just that.

Triss would have been lying to herself if she said that she was okay with taking a notice that tremendously abused her power, not to mention any potentially grave danger. After all, she was not the only mage in town and the notice stayed unanswered for quite some time. Not only would some mages snorted at this, _a certain someone_ would have reprimanded her for accepting something so below her worth, and Triss had an awfully explicit image on her mind as who that was. She allowed herself to dwell upon pleasant memories for an extra second before firmly pushing any pictures that were _too_ explicit out of her mind. This was the last thing she needed, and the thing she needed the most right now was money. She was already behind three weeks’ rent, and she certainly did not like the sore look she received when she tried to sneak into streets in the early morning before realizing with a start that the landlord couple was sitting by the dining table. Triss could not blame them for worrying that she might make off without paying it since it would have been a little hard to explain this was virtually impossible because Triss was just too kind to have it in her, but she did need to earn her keep as soon as possible lest one day they suddenly decided that witch hunters’ real gold was better than empty promises.

As a result, all sorts of causes and effects had led her to the suburb of the city where the crimson bricks made way for thatched cottages, the skirt of her dress drenched in ankle-deep mud, her hood and strays of red hair damp from the fog and the drizzle from earlier obscuring her sight, her mind filled with curses she did not know where and whom to direct. Although apparently her commission would require magic to complete, it was also apparent that she could not strut down the Novigrad stone streets with a locating spell emitting lights in front of her. After visiting the viscount’s manor, it took her quite some effort to find a dark alley without even a single drunkard slumbering in the corner, cast a spell that pointed to somewhere south of the city in the lowest volume she could manage, disintegrate the light right after, and walk back into the streets amidst a group of yawning servants heading for the fish market. She planned to cast another locating spell once she could no longer be seen in the forest and not a second before that. As a result, exhaustion from sleep deprivation and heavy skirts without a waterproof spell only doubled her anger and made her prone to dwell in her memories against her better judgment.

She hated rainy days. Though she did focus better with background white noise, it often took her back to those hardworking days back in Aretuza many, many years ago. She was not someone who would frown upon the idea of studying, per se, but she hated the feeling of trading hard work for recognition, for _affection_. Maybe if she did well enough in academics, even if she could not have her old family—not a happy one but at least something familiar—back, she could trade it for a new caretaker. Well, in a way, she did. _She_ came along, didn’t she? Groomed her, took care of her, kept up a promise that a scared child was not able to acknowledge how badly she needed it. Everything came together as wonderful as a fairy tale until she was fully-fledged and ready to go only to discover that Philippa had her wrapped in candy cuffs long before that. Many years after that, when Triss Merigold of Maribor finally started to make a name for herself while chopping off the shackles piece by piece, the war started, then everything was a blur. Thenedd Island. The Lodge. It was hard to say whether she believed in fate, but it did feel like an invisible force was always pulling her back toward her mentor and lover.

No, not a lover. Maybe a mistress would be a more proper term when love had never really played an element in their relationship. At best, what they had was endless fight and anger and exhaustion and restrained pining.

(When you put it like that, it did sound quite awfully like love.)

"What in gods’ name are you thinking, Merigold?" she reminded herself out loud, a way to refresh her a bit. After staggering in the mud for an hour, the wood began to thicken, and she could not see the thickest of the chimney smoke from her angle. She was then able to cast spells without worries. Aside from the locating spell and the drying spell, she also shielded herself from any elusive Scoia’tael. By the dim look of the light sphere, she afraid she had to stagger for at least another hour. She started to miss having a horse.

*

Unbelievably, an hour turned into a day. At first, she did come closer to the target of the spell, but that goddamn bird could somehow sense her presence and always disappeared between thick leaves once she got close enough with only a grey shadow left behind. But it should have been impossible. Triss may not be the best huntress, but covering her tracks with magic was a piece of cake. She could readily walk past the most easily startled lamb without being noticed. Unless…

When she realized this could be a trap after watching helplessly as the dove within reach lifted off for the hundredth time and landed on the roof of a hustling tiny village, she was beyond hungry. That fucking bird sat on the edge of the rooftop grooming its feather without a hurry in the world and even made a mocking eye contact with Triss in the meantime. Half of the fiery sun sunk into the horizon, the lights from what was left of it gilding a layer of shining gold on top of its feather. Even though the resident here could only be common farmers, Triss still dropped her invisible barrier for safety’s sake. She even gestured toward the rooftop with a middle finger when she was sure that no one was watching.

"You fowl-plagued little shite," she cursed through gritted teeth, "when I capture you, I’ll make a copy of you and brew a bowl of pigeon soup that smells so good that even the best chef in Tretogor palace will chop off their hands in shame."

_ Promises, promises… You really haven’t changed a bit. _

Triss put down her hand, shocked beyond description. No, it couldn’t be. She must have gone too deep in her memories while chasing her game idly and starved to illusion. What was more, even if she did go through all the trouble to meet her in this strange way, she was pretty sure she should have been a…

The magic ward dropped rather abruptly and a terrifyingly familiar grey owl stood where the "dove" was a second ago, its wet feather ruffled, its amber eyes stared calmly into her cornflower ones. She smelled cinnamon and muskroot.

"You can’t be serious."

_ Triss… _

"No! Get out of my head!" Shock quickly evolved into fury. She hardly cared how stupid she might have looked screaming at a dove. She eventually snapped under the pent-up weariness, frustration, and longing. A burst of fire erupted in her right palm, "and don’t you dare 'Triss' me like you’re ready to lecture! If you don’t get down here and transform back into human form in ten seconds, then so help me, I will shoot a big hole right through that flammable-looking roof!"

The owl’s fluffy body enlarged and then turned small again as if it were sighing, but the feather went smooth eventually. It— _she—_ spread out her wings to glide gracefully from the roof and landed on the edge of a well not too far from Triss, then she turned to a woman squatting like a bird, the woman her thoughts always came back to.

With wet hair messy like a bird’s nest, soaked white blouse turned transparent and stuck to her skin, and a magic blindfold around what used to be beautiful eyes, something always painful to watch, Philippa Eilhart still managed to look infuriatingly breathtaking. She stood up straight and came down from the well. She tried to look a bit more presentable by reaching up to pick out several pieces of leaves tucked in her hair, then she gave in and untied her braids to let silky jet black hair frame around her shoulder like a waterfall. Triss was almost paralyzed from just looking, because Philippa only let down her hair in _certain_ circumstances, and the last time that happened was a decade ago, but little of her sense left and her inability to fully let go of her past made her untied her hood hurriedly. She then visibly hesitated, but she closed their distance and wrapped the fabric around the other sorceress’ shoulders.

The scent of cinnamon and muskroot became stronger, combined with what smelled like wet feathers. They were close enough that Triss could see her onyx jewelry pulsing regularly. She was no doubt sizing her erstwhile companion up with magic.

"Bold of you to show up here, 'Redania’s Most Wanted' _._ " Triss sighed bitterly as she secured the hood around her neck. Despite herself, her fingers lingered on the other woman’s collarbone a second longer than necessary. And by the way a smirk was tugging at the corner of her lips, Philippa noticed.

"For someone who claimed she care not for my wellbeing, you are being awfully kind, my dear, since it was you who asked me to turn a minute ago," her voice was hoarse for lack of use. She cleared her throat and cocked her head like a curious bird, "I’m glad to see you again, Triss."

"Are you now?"

She was not a child anymore. She would not come wagging her tail at the smallest gesture of affection. But the longer she stared at Philippa, the faster her resolution was slipping away from her. She may hate all the discipline and manipulation of the older sorceress, but at the end of the day, she could not deny that she missed her so much her heart ached at a mere thought and that she was genuinely worried about her wellbeing, despite what Philippa had claimed otherwise. Not only was she a mage, but she was also wanted across the country by Radovid, who clearly hated her guts especially after she slipped from his fingers in Loc Muinn, and even at a place as remote as this village, it was hard to say if a painting of the sorceress of Tretogor had circulated here. But Triss had her own selfish motives in wishing to see the human form. Apart from wanting to see, even touch her former love again, more than she would ever appear to be, she also could not stand a telepathic conversation anymore. The severance of their bond had been many years ago, but a reconnection somehow awoke those familiar long-lost feelings, and Triss did not trust herself enough to handle it well.

"What makes you think I am not?" Philippa feigned her hurt by Triss’ half-real apathy, her hand pressed to her chest for extra dramatic effect. If she still had her eyes, Triss could have imagined them filled with taunt. A new wave of emotions gnawed at her throat: she could hardly contain the surging impulse to check her wound, to hold her hands in earnest and swear on every god she had ever known to make the culprit pay, even when she was well aware who that was. She had to admit paying secret attention to any news related to her even after years apart was nothing close to the "moving on" she had promised Yennefer, but, well, she tried, right? Besides, most of the time, she was not even doing it intentionally. After all, if the almighty-but-preferred-to-manipulate-behind-the-curtain Philippa Fucking Eilhart had truly stirred up something, it would most certainly be something huge. People across Redania apparently were keen on the story of how their great king had blinded the evil witch who robbed him of his rightful place, even though most of them had never met the sorceress in person and did not have the slightest clue as who she was.

(But Philippa did not have much of a charming personality herself, ha!)

Triss stared at her in disbelief, racking her brain for a witty comeback, but it was her stomach that made the first sound. She did trot through the forest for almost a day with only a tiny glass of goat milk she had more than twelve hours ago. She stood straight for another futile ten seconds trying to look imposing, but her stomach kept betraying her. Eventually, she gave in. Call her shallow, but no matter what, she just could not stay mad at Philippa’s delicate face for long. "I’m famished," she announced as if it was not the most obvious fact, "since you went through all this trouble just to see me, I suppose a drink at the local inn won’t hurt."

"Oh, that won’t be necessary."

Triss snapped back from the steps she took toward the village, her newly subsided anger resurfaced. "What does that mean? You clearly orchestrated this entire farce, making me running around like some kind of common trapper—don’t you _dare_ deny it—and now you’re going to pretend you don’t care? Just admit it, Phil. You missed me, but as always you took me for a fool…"

"…which is something I have never done." Philippa sensed the change in her tone and put up her hands in semi-surrender, "calm down, Triss. Trust me, I wouldn’t dream of it. I just…"

"And you have the audacity to ask me to _trust_ you? You just _what?_ What the _fuck_ do you want? I’m so sick of—"

She did not anticipate Philippa’s next move when she put her index finger over her lips and stopped any words that were supposed to come out. She should have felt frustrated by it because _gods_ she was no longer a petulant kid that needed discipline, but she could not find it in her to protest. Their first intimate touch in years sent a ray of electricity straight to the back of her head, and she forgot to talk, to move, to _breathe._

"I am fully aware that you are beyond reasonable to distrust me, and I cannot blame you. I am also aware of the risk for you and me to show up here. I know it all. And I am not here to fight." The second one was visibly easier when Philippa took hold of her chin. Triss could feel her intense gaze through the fabric even without the eyes, "when I say unnecessary, I didn’t mean it as a refusal, merely as to move to the inn. Food and drinks are already served in the plaza. All we need to do is to blend in."

Triss stared at her, dumbfound, as if she had suddenly grown an extra head, "why?"

"Good lord, have you been holing up in an attic or something?" to her credit, Philippa did try her best not to sound too condescending. She took the lead to walk toward the village without checking if Triss was behind her, but both of them were well aware of the results. She always followed, didn’t she? "Happy Beltane, Triss Merigold."

*

Beltane.

Triss walked with disbelief and difficulty among crowds that were screaming, drinking, dancing, and doing all of these at once, her breath short from the strong fume of burning dried pine, certain that this was another cruel joke the fate had made her out of. Of course she knew what Beltane meant, including some of its… byproduct. Many, many years ago, she helped out for some time in the Temple of Melitele for her vast knowledge in potions, and she could hardly remember how many vials of abortion potion she had made for regretful or heartbroken girls in the few months after Beltane. A celebration of spring and birth, neither of which had anything to do with her. She knew Yennefer was always sour about sorceresses’ infertility while she personally never minded, only that she could be freer from certain restrain in sex.

The word itself reminded her to look for another woman who surely had the same complications as hers to fit in and found her eating strawberries by the largest campfire in her usual annoyingly graceful manner and also remembered to ogle a blonde girl staring at her licking her fingers clean of juice in the most seductive way possible, dumbstruck.

As for her, well… she definitely relinquished her reproductive rights when she practiced her inclination toward the fairer sex.

She crossed their gap with big strides and took her hand without a second thought, only to be violently shrugged off.

"What?" Strawberries obviously were not the only holiday food she had taken. When she was suddenly in her face, them almost kissing if only Triss did not back up, startled, by the come-on, her breath smelled sweet grass and white wines, "we are on a celebration, pet. Loosen up a little."

"You’re attracting unwanted attention." Triss had to lean into her ears to drown out the loud noises, "if you’re so desperate for some innocent girls to comfort your old bones, at least do it in the dark. For gods’ sake, you’re older than every young one here combined. Get a hold of yourself."

When she straightened up she found that her words seemed to have little effect. Just when she was torn between repeating it or not, she was unprepared for Philippa to giggle, something so unlike her to do that it almost gave her goosebumps. " _Triss!_ Are you jealous?"

"What? No! I’m just…" but Triss stopped, realizing she did not know what was happening to her as well. The only thing she was sure of was that watching Philippa flirting with energetic young girls as if they were alone rubbed her in all the wrong ways, and to delve too deep into the ultimate reason only added more pain to her already swimming head because of all kinds of spice.

"Now, if you excuse me, I need to go save as many unsophisticated girls from corrupted patriarchy as possible." Philippa turned around on wobbly feet, but she was stopped by a hand on her arm with prepared force.

"Phil, please." Triss’ voice now had a hint of panic. The night was early, and there was enough daylight and not enough alcohol flowing around for everyone to mistake the sparks between Philippa’s fingers for hallucination.

"Let go, Merigold." Philippa said slowly, "because if you don’t, I hope you can find a devil to make deal with him so that he can turn you into a left-handed."

"Then you will spend the rest of your short but painful life in a dimeritium cage customized for you, and neither of us wants that, right?" Triss managed to find her singing-Ciri-to-sleep voice she had not applied for years. She had no idea how to proceed. Because for as long as she remembered, Philippa seldom allowed herself to lose control to an extent like this, if not ever. And just like moments ago, she forbade herself from dwelling her motives.

"Let go."

"No."

"I swear to gods—"

The May King and May Queen sharing a messy, tangling kiss on top of the oaken stage successfully swayed everyone’s attention from whatever brutal curse the dark hair sorceress was going to conjure. Whistling, stomping, and cheering easily drowned out the unceremonious splashing and swearing by the well.

"Have you had enough? Do you want some more?" two mugs of watery beer she was too slow to turn down from earlier started to kick in, encouraging Triss, who was always a lightweight in drinking and now with probably less restrain than what was wise for her, to rub her itching palms on the hem of her dress without scruples. Philippa just stared at her unable not find any words, which was a rare sight in itself and most likely resulted from a sphere of well water Triss summoned from the bottom of the well and slammed it all on her ten seconds ago, stupefied and drenched from head to toe after going through much trouble drying herself up by one of the bonfires.

When Triss returned to the edge of the forest far from the center of celebration to reunite with a re-dried Philippa, broccoli and snow pea salad in one hand, a garland of daisies from a little girl in the other, Philippa’s (imaginary) look was less murder-y, but she still looked rather exasperated.

"Don’t do that again."

"I’m not apologizing."

"At least you took that in quite well." Philippa smiled bitterly and took her peace offering. To Triss’ relief, she did not voice any complaint about the cheaply seasoned dinner, but if she had been hiding in her owl form, any human food was way better than swallowing a living rat.

"I took in so many other things from you as well, more than I would care to admit, actually." Triss crowned her with flowers and pecked lightly on her cheek. Neither seemed any surprised by it.

"Things like?"

They sat down on a fallen trunk. Triss sincerely wished that the rustle from somewhere behind them was just an ordinary owl, albeit a rather large one.

"Like your ability to cut through all the bullshit." she glanced at Philippa, who smirked smugly, "you still haven’t answered my question. Why?"

"Why… what?"

"You know what I’m asking."

Philippa lowered her head as if casting her eyes down. A brief silence when even the northern wind stopped and brooded. When she raised her head again, she offered a terrifyingly sincere answer. "I miss you. I’ve always worried about your safety. When I heard…"

Her voice trailed off, almost sounded as if she was uncertain, but that would be impossible, wouldn’t it?

"I’m alright, am I not, Phil? Geralt saved me."

Philippa snorted. "Yeah, I heard that as well."

Maybe it was unwise to bring up his name right now, but the sudden and unyielding weariness made Triss throw every caution in the wind. She was tired of wars, especially those wars of man. She came to Novigrad to seek refuge, but another battle with a different kind of smoke broke out, its epicenter closer to her this time. She had been in constant fear for months and would continue to be this way until she had the chance to skip town. So in a way, she was thankful for Philippa, for giving her a chance to unwind somehow, even in the form of a festival that was hardly her favorite.

And it _was_ uncannily stress-relieving when she splashed Philippa in the face.

"Alright, since I answered your question honestly, I demand one in return," the older sorceress clasped her hands together, "so tell me, Triss, what do you plan to do next?"

To be honest? Triss was mildly offended when she poured her heart out and got this perfunctory question in return, and a small part of her that never fully trusted Philippa even from day one even started to suspect that former accomplice of the spy chief and forever mistress of espionage intended to unrealistically betray her at the time when all magical ones should have stuck together toward a common goal, even when it made zero sense since she had no one to sell her information to without the slightest tie to her in the meantime.

Or maybe it was the wishful thinking of her other part, her larger, more annoyingly sentimental part, that Philippa was only worried about her as she had claimed. Maybe she managed to capture a sniff of the grand project of the Novigrad mage community moving out in a body, and she wanted to secure a future for magic. Even when the lodge took quite a hit, half of the members died from the witch hunt, and she lacked the moves she used to siphon from a powerful country, just an old, tired owl flattering her wings blindly in a storm looking for shelter, she could not have given up any of her visionary plots in the short term. She used to tell Triss that magic was the supreme existence, and no party, country, or race could ever hope to surpass her glamor. When she thought about that, Triss seemed to take up her mantle long before she was conscious of it. Was it not what she was doing, preserving the legacy of magic? At the very least, it made them allies. Of course she could trust her comrade, even when, or _especially_ , if that was Philippa Eilhart of all people.

Still, she could not bring herself to say it. She found it hard to explain, even to herself, that she discovered with terror that she had become what Philippa always tried to be. _The big pictures_ , people kept saying that. But what had they lost when chasing it around? Philippa had had many influential mistresses, but in the end, the only love she could really have was magic. And look where that took her.

Triss used to want nothing more than shoulder her burden. Years later, when she was in a position similar to Philippa’s, she realized reluctantly that Philippa was not the only one that needed help.

So she told a half-true lie. "I plan to do something romantic."

She thought Philippa would snort again and tell her that romance was for children, that she was looking for something unattainable in someone impossible, even tauntingly throwing in that infamous goddamn quote of Vilgefortz. At that moment, all sorts of possibilities flashed across her mind, how the dark-hair sorceress told her in the most condescending way possible that do not mistake the reflection of the lake for the stars in the skyline.

But she received none of them.

Philippa shrugged, multiple shadows cast by the bonfire carving out clearer lines of her face. Despite this, her tone was unfamiliarly gentle. "Certainly, Triss," the corner of her lips even twitched in an attempt to smile in genuine, "It’s Beltane."

*

Beltane!

They did not move from their spot, but staring at the dancing crowd by the piles of bonfire, paces and waving limbs frenzied from raised alcohol level in the system, was enough to send the blood riling. Triss also unwisely returned to the celebration to grab some more mugs, and it was quite a dangerous signal for her. She never enjoyed Redanian beer, the yellowish, bitter liquid often reminding her of the evil potion that would result in the most intense allergy from her, and maybe in a few decades, only mages like her could remember that there was once a country called Temaria that produced rye in the Continent, but now she was relying on whatever cheap taste to get drunk? Not good. After at least five mugs, everything in sight was reduced to spots of bright yellow on the indigo canvas, and all that she could smell to Philippa’s perfume. Vertigo came in waves. Even when she sat down, she was constantly on the verge of tumbling over. So she grasped onto the only real pinpoint in the ridiculousness, hard enough to bruise, although Philippa had beautiful olive skin that was hard to appear scarred, something Triss had always envied, while she could easily turn into a porcelain doll she always hated herself to be.

She envied so much about Philippa. How could that woman be so damn _perfect_ all the time? It should be considered a legit crime!

Lady Criminal snickered at that.

"You… you’re reading my mind again!" Triss was not that drunk, plus it could also be she had not felt this pleasant tingling of basking in another mage’s magic for a while now, not to mention it was the magic that she could not be more familiar with.

"I sincerely promise you I did not, Triss. You merely voice it out loud," still tickled, Philippa dragged her back onto the trunk again, holding down the ragdoll of the redhead sorceress in vain, "I’m afraid I have made a grave mistake regarding the amount of allowable booze you can take."

"I am not a child!" Triss wanted to declare it in indignation, but what came out sounded more like a pathetic grumble, "you aren’t my guardian since ages ago… not anymore."

"Is that it? You consider your inability to sort out your mommy issues to be the cause of the fallout between us?" Philippa was holding back her amusement so hard that Triss could feel her hand trembling on her shoulder. And this sentence cut through thick layers of drunken haze and stabbed right into her chest. She detested in the hasty way Philippa so casually brought it up. This was the first time she ever heard Philippa willingly admit that there was even an _us,_ but this was far from what she wished to hear.

"Fuck you!" this time her volume did qualify yelling, and some of the young ones closer to them and yet to be driven mad from lust eyed their direction in curiosity, but that was the furthest thing from Triss’ mind, "fuck you and all your pretense! I’ve had enough. Don’t you dare play down this 'us' as if… as if I’m just a shady mistress you keep in secret!"

Oh well, this was not the finest metaphor Triss had ever made after Philippa could very possibly have more mistresses than her age indicated even before Triss was born, but she desperately needed her accusation to sound indeed accusatory instead of, you know, despair. To be honest, ever since they first slept together, throughout the years, Triss had been having serious self-doubt moments that she was only a service toy, that Philippa could never, even unable to possess any emotion, not to mention something as grand as love. But while they were still bound together, it was all these times when restrained emotion overflowed even under the most careful calculation that got her through the days, the truth unable to be fully covered up with all the poker faces in the world. When she was younger, she would be caught up in intense inner conflict: on one hand, she could acutely feel her unnatural thoughts and action before slowly coming to terms that they belonged to one specific emotion; on the other hand, though she received feedback that could not be manufactured without a doubt, her confidence was yet from enough to support her belief that the woman who was always so high-up and seldom affectionate could feel even a fiber of what she was feeling. This emotional burden that held her back longer than it should have may not be one of many methodologies when Philippa attempted to train her to be the perfect guard dog with whips and meat, but it was most certainly her doing. Because, when her halo faded in time, it was not exactly hard for Triss to realize that she was just a total stubborn old jerk.

Philippa outright laughed at her accusation, any (apparently pretended) tipsiness from earlier disappeared like the morning dew. "Very well. Tell me then, Triss Merigold, how would you like to describe 'us'? After all, you seem to have little problem in being a mistress. I didn’t force you to do anything against your precious free will, anything, and I certainly did not intentionally teach you how to shift blame, so congratulation? Or I cannot voice even this, for it might _confuse_ you?"

She stood up as well and flicked a leaf off her dress. She held her stare with her magic, her intense gaze almost tearing a hole on Triss, her voice impossibly tender, "what exactly do you _want_?"

Triss stared with fury, disbelieved that she threw the question back at her. Time and distance certainly beatified who used to be the most intimate person in her life. She was reminded in the cruelest way that Philippa was essentially a professional liar and manipulator, that she did everything for a reason and people would get hurt in the process whether it was her initial intent or not. What was worse, most of the time it was, and she just did not care.

Every inch of her wished so bad to scream "you", unrealistic as that may be. Angry tears spilling over clearly did not help her matter, but all her strength seemed to be drawn out of her body in an instance. She could only stand there, hot tears streaming down her freckled cheeks, her makeup a disaster, carnival singing and movement of people dancing on the edge of her consciousness. She hated Philippa. She hated herself even more so. Why did she always have to screw up everything?

"I…" her tongue was stuck on the top of her jaw like she was silenced by a rough spell. _Why is this so hard? Just tell her. Tell her how much of a jerk she’s acting. Turn the table around like her. She_ is _the bad guy here. Tell her the l word…_

"…I loved you."

"How surprising."

_"Philippa."_

"Good gods, Triss, what exactly are you expecting me to say? You are well aware it is not going to happen."

"…I know."

Triss lowered her head in frustration, kicking at an unfortunate pebble. She did know, didn’t she? Maybe she really needed to ask herself this question more often. What _did_ she want? Recognition? Reciprocity? Affection? _Love?_

Blood rushed in her head. Before Philippa, not knowing what she was trying to do, could stop her, she raised her arms toward the sky. Technicolor bubbles emerged from her fingertips and blew into gorgeous patterns in the night sky painted with fire, bolting unicorn and soaring eagles, golden lilies, among many other sigils of the northern realms. Crowds that were more than half drunk burst into cheering and laughing, not caring at all that the magic firework, which used to be part of the tradition, was strictly forbidden in the current law and that they could end up in troubles as well for "harboring criminals". No one did.

"Triss!"

"Dance with me."

"Triss…"

_"Please,"_ she pleaded, "It’s Beltane."

*

Beltane! May Day Eve!

They drank some more and danced and conjured up more firework with magic. Philippa was quite reluctant at the beginning, but Triss was hellbent in being a romantic. Eventually, she gave in, and lustrous colors filled up the sky once again. Flocks of birds gliding across, blossom in a riot of color, a thousand times brighter than what was going on on the ground. They danced beneath the fire and starlight, skirts of dresses with intricate patterns and flowers in beautiful hair fluttering in the wind, hands tied natural as breathing. For a split moment, Triss could even pretend that they were just like everyone else in the open space, common people taking the opportunity to build up bonfires lofty enough to pain the night sky into daytime, to drink and have fun, to enjoy freedom some were fortunate enough to not know how precious it could be... to celebrate "the cycle of life".

To celebrate life. Lives they were or about to create on this festival.

Mandolins struck out one last dramatic note, and the rhythm ended with cheering and clapping loud enough to tear off the roof of the world. Triss panted lightly as she tucked a stray strand of red locks behind her ears, staring at the dark hair sorceress who returned her smile, fascinated. Philippa seldom smiled, but a genuine one of her could make the most beautiful landscape in the world pale in comparison. Especially in moments like this, when Philippa, without her eyes, stared longingly into her as if she was everything. Triss really should have known better than to fall for it for the thousandth time, but she did.

"What?" Damn. Her cheeks burned with color unrelated to the warmth of the bonfire.

A new song was played, but the crowd was growing sparser by the minutes, and it mostly consisted of elders walking around checking if any member of the younger generation needed help. Someone added more dried pine needle into the pile of fire nearest to them, but the following fire lacked its young and wild energy from hours ago.

Philippa sighed, a sound alerting enough for Triss to snap out of her drunken haze. Phillip also seldom felt apologetic or regretful, and it made her heart sink, realizing that she might not be prepared for what she had to say.

Instead, Philippa simply said, "maybe I made a mistake years ago."

And this was enough of the last straw for Triss to do something stupid and no longer convenient for her to pretend that she was not the bitter ex she tried very hard not to be. She took a big stride to press her lips unceremoniously onto Philippa’s, who did not have the slightest clue as to what disaster lied waiting for her. She hardly had time to luxuriate in this old and new feeling before Philippa, mildly surprised but recovered almost instantly, took control of the situation out of instinct, her well-maintained nails digging into the back of Triss’ neck, her other hand holding onto her proud tiny waist. She tasted like fresh fruit and cider and Philippa, a soft tongue intruding into the territory that had always been hers with a strut as if she had never left.

Maybe this was what common men felt like under a sorceress’ spell, Triss tried to think with a dizzy head, feeling rough bark through the thin fabric of her back pressing unyieldingly into her before she knew it. She bluntly returned the kiss she initiated, curled fingers tugging at the cloth on the other woman’s chest, mind scrambled like the caldron she would use to brew potions. Everywhere Philippa touched sent sharp streams of electric burning off the last bit of her sanity. Philippa’s skin was cold, but she felt like she was burning from the inside out nonetheless. She groaned in despair, weak knees buckling beneath her.

It did not completely shake her out of her lust, but a rock hitting on her bare shoulder was hard to ignore to some extent. Though it did not hurt much, Triss winced and cried in pain out of reflex. Being the one that was somewhat more clear-headed most of the time, Philippa was the first to untangle herself, turning around to look for the person responsible in fury. Triss, slow to catch up, almost failed to drag her away in time from magically chocking a few drunkards throwing stones and calling insulting names toward them to death.

"Dressin’ like a lad ain’t gon’ make you kiss like one, missy! Let a real man show you how it’s done!"

"Let go of me so I can skin them alive, those idiotic bastard—"

"And miss out on a lot of fun? Not very worthwhile. I’m fine."

"But I want to have some fun of my own—" Triss was positive that Philippa pulled this spoiled rich girl tone just to gross her out, but Philippa would never admit to something so petty. A ping of tingling shot toward her from where she was grabbing onto Philippa’s arm, feeling so good that she almost moaned out loud. She managed to get a hold of herself at the last second and gave Philippa, holding out a hand in compromise but looking as smug and faux innocent as a cat lying in front of a broken flower pot licking its paw, a poisonous look, "just a harmless joke? They are surely already high on fisstech, and it will be nothing but some high-end illusion from them anyway. I solemnly swear the effect will wear off in the morning."

Triss sighed deeply in resignation and relented. Philippa raised her arms with grace fit for conducting a band and turned those thugs, laughing like crazy against trees unaware of the wildest night they were soon going to live lying ahead, into swines leaping around in panic.

"Happy?"

"Very." Philippa clapped her hands in victory, "now I am in the mood for another kind of fun."

"Philippa—"

"Relax, kid, I just want to find us a roof over our head. Teenagers are so utterly unappreciative of a soft bed. Their loss, really. I, on the other hand, fully intend to lie in one before going back to fighting over a hollowed space in a tree with crows."

"But an empty room? At this time?"

"Who said anything about being empty? Isn’t that where the fun part lies?"

"Philippa…"

"I said, loosen up. Gods, you are close to looking as antique as Yennefer of Vengerberg."

"For the last time—"

"—You are not a child anymore, yeah, yeah. Well, you need to _act_ like one…"

"Phil!"

"Yes?"

"Just kiss me again."

"With pleasure."

*

The room they found was not empty.

Two bodies scrambled to find the linen clothes they threw to the other side of the room in a heat of passion when they unlocked the nearest house to them and walked in. They were young, and not the kind of time preservation like the sorceresses did with magic. Pure youthful vigor glistened with sweat across their tanned skin and muscular shoulders from farming and chores years around, the kind that Triss had not found in the mirror for quite some time.

(But let’s be honest, she _was_ almost sixty.)

It was worth mentioning that the young man, no, the teenage boy did have quite an impressive virility, even for Triss, who had had her fair share of men. Even when she felt like men were all the same and seeing one of them was like seeing all of them anyway, she could not help but fix her gaze on the swaying giant between a boy so young, clearly terrified by the overbearing intruders.

"Out." Philippa applied her ability to cut through all the bullshit, the unconcealed threat in her voice so vicious that even Triss winced in sympathy. She raised a glowing fist for the added effect.

The boy apparently had never encountered anything like this before, standing still in the middle of the room swallowing thickly, his tiny Adam’s apple stirred a little, wanting to grab the clothes by the wall but was paralyzed with fear. The girl was cowering in a corner of the bed trying to hide her body beneath the cover. Philippa always had this kind of effect on girls unwavering in the most boorish and obscene comments, making them blush furiously with the briefest of a glance.

Triss tried not to sound too much like a pervert who broke into a stranger’s house and interrupted the ancient festive ritual rudely, but she doubted she had succeeded. Nonetheless, she decided to at least try, "young ones, I am terribly sorry that we came in to disturb you at this time—"

"You are apologizing again? Listen, kids who are unprepared to have kids in many aspects, the tradition of Beltane is to make babies underneath the starlight, so you have ten seconds to grab your garments and find an oak or a willow to be wild. And if you keep your mouth shut about the event that took place here or the people you have met, I will ensure the entire village does not hear the rumors that your impotence is permanent. Sounds fair enough?"

"What my friend was trying to say is," Triss interfered hurriedly, "that we'd love to… boost you up a little in ways that are less approved, and you needn’t mention you have help when you become a legend around here. Call it a fair deal, shall we?"

The boy swallowed again. When he spoke up he tried to sound as manly as possible, but his intermittent high and deep voice did little in his regard, "what kind of boost are you offering?"

Triss reached out and muttered a spell. The boy cried out abruptly, hand flying to press on his crotch before they are removed shortly after. He stared down in shock at the magically erected cock. The girl moaned almost inaudibly from the other end of the bed.

It was a rather ridiculous scene, but Triss politely waited until they rushed out tripping over their own feet with their clothes before laughing wholeheartedly. She was satisfied with herself that she avoided any unnecessary damage. She could do nothing about the trauma that boy had from the threat of life-long impotence though.

"You seem to grow a fancy to the gadget you conjured up, Merigold." Philippa teased as she unfastened Triss’ hood around her neck and tossed it onto the girl’s dressing table, already making herself comfortable, "do you want a toy like that as well?"

Triss laughed again, this time from the barely concealed sourness in Philippa’s tone. She turned to face the woman uncharacteristically pouting with her arms crossed in front of her chest and untangled her limbs gently so that she could begin to undress her with clear intent, "all I want is you."

"Triss," to her surprise, Philippa grabbed her hand adamantly, stilling her movement, but she was more taken aback at her pleading tone, "Believe me. I wouldn’t think twice, if it were only to be… But it’s senseless. Everything will start again and finish like last time. It would be senseless if we were to—"

"Does everything have to make sense?" Triss interrupted, challenging, "It’s Beltane."

"Beltane. What of it? How long have we been having this dance? We will part after tonight, holding onto the wishful thinking that maybe by chance we will meet again. I am tired of it and too old to continue dancing."

Triss slowly retracted her hand. She thought she had had her last shock, but clearly she was wrong. "Are you talking about… emotions? About _us?_ "

"What’s the matter? Isn’ that what you want?" Philippa retorted sarcastically. Triss was familiar with this, though. She would get awfully defensive when she was feeling insecure, which was rare and mostly happened exactly when Triss tried to talk. And the fact that she could see through it indeed made Triss wondered more or less that maybe everything was not a huge mistake both of them were constantly trying to make it appear to be. "Just take it as my sentiment grows with my age, okay?"

Triss beamed with a contagious smile, "you are not old at all you silly." She pounced onto the unprepared Philippa and hugged her tightly, who sighed and wrapped her in a reluctant but sincere embrace. Triss, on the other hand, had mixed motives. She used the opportunity to untie the belt on Philippa’s waist, clawing at her thin shoulder straps in vain, teeth sinking into soft flesh on the neck. She heard a gasp and then a chuckle, feeling fingers fumbling in her hair.

"Always so impatient." Philippa scolded, but in a spoiling tone. Nonetheless, she stopped obsessing over talking or even taking off Triss’ clothes in return. She continued to play with red hair and found the hairband to untie the bun, letting it fall like a waterfall not unlike the way the dress that the younger sorceress finally conquered did, “one of these days you need to learn the virtue of it, and I can’t see any reasons why it shouldn’t be today.”

“Shut up and let me fuck you.” Philippa’s naked form never ceased to disappoint. Even still in lingeries, miles of olive skin looking as sacred as a statue of a goddess in the faint candlelight was enough to leave her breathless. She backed up a few steps to take it all in, hands desperately grasping at the skirts of the dress she failed to disrobe trying to get a hold of the situation vainly, but by the way a sudden surge of moisture manifested between her thighs she may not be able to deliver the arrogant promise she thought she could keep moments ago.

Philippa grinned in satisfaction, feeling the evident thirsty gaze without needing to look. She had always been a showoff. She stepped out of the fabrics pooling at her feet, stood still for a while to search for Triss’ direction before walking toward her. Triss could not help but step back in turns, but the bed frame hitting her on the back of her knees made her tumble over and fell between sheets. She shrieked, making worrying looks replace the smile on Philippa’s face, but she was quick to assure her, “I’m… I’m fine,” she laughed dryly, popping her upper body on her elbows, not wanting to miss any second of the beautiful view, “it’s just… you disorient me.”

“I know,” the smile returned, smug and predatory, sending shivers up Triss’ spine. She moved back in bed to make space for Philippa to climb onto her, mind wandering about how she looked like a wounded doe watching helplessly as the panther approached her with graceful strides and hungry eyes, ready to devour her whole. With a flick of her wrist, Philippa dematerialized her clothes, and Triss grumbled in protest as she had been trying her best to save up and stay indoors, but she could not find it in herself to complain, because a hand followed short and covered one of her breasts, thumb flickering at her nipple. She managed to gasp through gritted teeth, hand finding Philippa’s neck to pull her into a messy and heated kiss.

“I withdraw my previous comment,” she told her a little breathlessly, “you arrogant old jerk.”

“I prefer the term ‘experienced’.” Philippa returned her kiss in languish movements, fingers sliding across the underside of her breast and palming it lightly. This was familiar. Triss, dazzled by the fairness of the older sorceress, was eager like a teenage girl who first had a taste of the forbidden fruit, while Philippa could patiently stretch out the foreplay to an astonishing extent until Triss started to beg for mercy. This was their own version of war, one of the few ways Triss could actually fight back, though up to this day she had never won any of the battles. Regardless, the process was always so pleased that the result was unimportant anyhow, “know that men are much straight-forward in pleasure, almost disdainfully so--all of their pride and ego, centered on a little prick they consider invincible.”

The hand on her breast shifted to the freckled lean shoulder, nails digging into little flesh in there. Triss hissed under her, leaving a few red marks on the small of Philippa’s back in retaliation. Feeling soft silk with her fingers made her fumble on her muscular back searching for the ties for the corset, then she decided to tit for tat, pressing the heel of her palm on the fabric and set it alight for mischief. It turned out to be quite a dangerous action, for Philippa suddenly tilted her head and bit her on the sensitive spot on the side of her neck, making her almost set Philippa’s hair on fire as well in the brief blackout. 

“Women, on the other hand,” Philippa bit harder on the spot in warning, hard enough for Triss to be certain that she could see it in the mirror come morning, “require more finesse. It takes delicate and patience.” She pulled herself up and flicked the corset-turned dust off her torso as if nothing happened.

Then her hand paused mid-air, reaching toward her face but stopping herself from further movement. For an instant, panic flashed across her face, enough to snap her out of the lusty haze she was in. She pulled herself up as well on trembling arms and took her wrist gently but firmly to press her hand on the ugly, tangling scars across her chest, another cruel mark the cruel life had manifested on them.

“You are free to pretend that this is what you want, that whatever we have is purely physical if it makes you feel better, and I'll believe it my way.” Triss told her in a soft voice, thumb sliding across the back of her hand under hers, “you know this will not change how I view you, the same way it did not change yours because of these scars. You did not abandon me then, not after Sodden. I knew it then that you care more deeply than how you shallowly appear. You did not abandon me then, instead you took care of me, made me believe that I am still worth loving regardless of what I look like, and I am not abandoning you right now.”

“This is different, Triss,” Philippa replied bitterly, her hand moving on her accord, fingertips tracing gently over every shallow and deep curve. Triss held back shivers that had nothing to do with the cold. “I am--”

“Handicapped? Incomplete? Or so angry at yourself because a force beyond your control fucked you up hard?” Triss regretted these words almost as soon as they left her lips. She did not want Philippa to think she was projecting her own emotions. It was not about her. She sighed and caught Philippa’s wandering hand apologetically, not to still her movement, but to lift it to her lips to press them on every knuckle, leaving faint-colored lipstick marks behind, “I’m sorry for imposing. I won’t judge you if you wish to keep the barrier, but I do hope you can understand that I want to see all of you, including the part you may deem imperfect. Because it was all I ever wanted.”

She leaned in, shortening their distance inch by inch with discretion. When Philippa felt her approach but showed no sign of stopping her, she kissed her half-covered nose bridge with feather-light touches, then her forehead. She felt Philippa’s hand grasping at her upper arm tense, as did the rest of her body, but she still received no intention to decline. So Triss tilted her head to kiss her cordially and devoutly on the dents through a thin layer of fabric, her palm pressing on the older woman’s lower back, light but insistent, to support herself and cut off any possibility of escape. She littered the empty space with small kisses, feeling warm body tremble under her palm, feeling warm liquid wetting her chin--

She did her best to not look too shocked because Philippa became visibly self-conscious about it, but who would believe that Philippa Eilhart, the proud jewel of Tretogor Palace, likely the most powerful sorceress in the world right now, could cry? But the lower hem of the magical fabric glowing faint yellow light was indeed soaked and dark-colored, and her suspicious gasps sounded awfully like sobs. Triss hesitated, but she eventually reached out to the back of Philippa’s head and undid the knot of the blindfold to take it away from her face. She tried her best to neglect the ache in her chest upon seeing what used to be eyes as beautiful as the onyx jewelry she wore now replaced with emptiness and cauterized flesh but failed, wiping away tears that were scarce but definitely there.

“Shh--it’s alright,” Triss told her in a tender voice and kissed her, refraining herself from thinking that she was doing exactly what the woman trembling and breaking down in her arms had done for her a lifetime ago. How she comforted and cooed and promised her that she was safe, that the world did not end, that someone cared about her enough that they were willing to pick her up piece by piece and put her back together, for her.

“I am indeed old,” Philippa’s voice was filled with undisguised exhaustion and occasional gasps. She hung her head, almost as if she did not wish for Triss to see her wounded eyes, “and tired. And so fucking terrified.”

Triss took a deep breath. She was somewhat at a loss. Because to be honest? So was she. Terrified for Philippa. Not that she was having a hard time accepting this side of her. She was more terrified that she may never know the depth of her vulnerability and fear underneath all the confident and powerful facade she had put up so solidly. Because Philipa was, well, being Philippa. It took a lot for her to admit the existence of her human emotions.

But Triss pushed this kind of thoughts aside with growing proficiency and wrapped Philippa in a tight embrace. Moments later, she felt the hug was returned in hesitance, and the arms around her tightened with more tears spilling over her naked shoulder and dripped down her back.

“I know,” she whispered, “but you needn’t do everything alone. I’m with you. You will have me no matter what. You should know that by now, right?”

It was hot where skin was on skin, but neither of them showed signs of backing up. Philippa’s sobbing ceased, and only tears were gathering in her empty sockets before they spilled out reluctantly. Triss, who used to be where Phillipa was now, felt the powerlessness of words and could only hold her in her palms and kiss her, wiping away her tears. Philippa no longer tasted like impulse and sweetness but salty regret and bitterness, but Triss could not care less. She knew, or at least she thought she knew, what she was in for. And she wished to have it all.

Because she loved her.

“But why, Triss?” It was almost as if she read her mind out of instinct. Philippa wiped her face with the back of her hand, another arm still wrapped tightly around her shoulders, though she was in fact asking for an answer from her previous comment. Earlier this evening, she answered the same question, but for Triss, she now found a question like this meaningless. Motives and wishes were hardly important and what really mattered is the tangible changes they made with their limited power. People lied all the time for all kinds of purposes. Only through actions could they prove themselves.

Triss told her as such while patting her back lightly. A gust of chilly spring breeze crawled through the crack on the window and blew out the candle, leaving them holding each other in the dark. Philippa’s shoulders were trembling but not from crying, and Triss could feel it too.

“It’s getting cold. If you don’t feel like it, we can…” Triss hesitated, not knowing how to correctly phrase it. In the past, whenever she was feeling out of elements and wanted to turn down Philippa’s courting request, most of the time she did not even need to spell it out, which was great. Because no matter how experienced she was in the bedroom, vocalizing her sexual needs explicitly was somehow always shameful for her. As for Philippa, she could always perceive her state approximately accurately and almost commanded her to rest in her usual uncompromising posture without any declaration on her part. But when the role fell on Triss, less skilled in reading people than the other sorceress, she could only demonstrate blank stares, because she really did not know what to do.

“No, it’s fine. I…” Philippa, much calmer than before, took a shredded breath, and finally raised her head. Faint moonlight flowed in and filled the room. Her empty sockets looked creepier in the shadows cast by silver light, but Triss did not feel afraid for the briefest of a second.

“How much do you love me?” She asked in a hoarse voice in lieu of an explanation.

“With all my heart and soul,” Triss answered in a heartbeat.

“Prove it.”

“With pleasure.”

*

She tasted like a fever dream.

Triss kissed her, fingers tangled in messy black hair, sinking into her existence like how she dived head-first into misty and cool Maribor forests in the middle of a burning and stuffy summer day, memories from time so long-lost that it almost felt like it belonged to another. She kissed Philippa anywhere she could reach, on knitted brows, on wet cheeks, on the tensed neck, on cold shoulders, on wrists with intricate vessels and capillaries, on the chest with occasional sudden rises and falls, on nipples hard as tiny jewels, on the space above the belly button, on the lean waistline. With a clear destination in mind, she did not rush in the slightest, pace slow as she worshipped every inch of olive skin in devotion, enjoying every tiny feedback from the woman under her lips. During the scarce moments when she was allowed to provide service mercifully, Philippa was always awfully sensitive but refused to be vocal about it, yet her body language was always honest to the point of annoyance for its mistress and a certain someone smugness. She did not moan or whimper and her breaths were seldom ragged, her dark skin hard to blush. Only skin tensed with tremor, shivers from sudden movements, or tiny sounds muffled not fast enough could betray her true state from time to time. Triss treasured these moments for their rarity, and she always made sure she enjoyed them.

But now things were slightly different. Nothing was the same after the first shed of tears. Sex became a mean instead of an end. Triss was eager to prove the affection she just voiced out loud believably and acceptably while they could both enjoy it. To be honest, she was never secretive about her infatuation, and things like that seldom escape Philippa. She just chose to ignore emotions in general as usual. On the other hand, Triss knew maybe too well how her passion would be received, so she wisely kept her mouth shut. But offering her a chance so generously now? No fruit of Beltane could be sweeter than this.

She finally came to rest between Philippa’s tense thighs as she watched out of the corner of her eyes how the other woman propped herself up on her elbows, worried look fixed on her. With somewhat clumsy help, Triss managed to get rid of the undergarment from the slender legs with her mouth. It may not be the most ideal situation, but Philippa’s excitement was evident in the faint light, beads of tiny dews hiding among soft hair, looking absolutely delicious. Triss, cheerful and too pleased with herself for her own good, only held her back for five more seconds, forgetting that this was not supposed to be a grand meal as it appeared to be and the main course was not for her to appreciate, eyes flickering up to exchange an almost innocent and chaste look with Philippa, looking mildly annoyed at the look, through long lashes, and then she was feasting. A harsh exhale came from above her head and fumbling fingers threaded through auburn hair to press her toward the desired direction, but Triss rested her hand on top of this one, stilling its movement.

_Let go._ Triss blinked her infuriatingly beautiful cornflower eyes and pleaded silently through telepathy, her mouth too busy with other activities: tiny nose pressing precisely on the small bundles of nerve hidden among dark bushes, agile tongue exploring back and forth at the entrance searching for a way in. She noticed with satisfaction as the woman under her fluttered her eyes shut, failing to reply properly with telepathy because of a fierce and broad swipe across her cunt, another tingling tug on her scalp. Of course, she was fine with pain, and she had begged shamelessly for the delicious ache and welts from the woman she was pleasuring now for numerous times, but it was not something she wanted at this moment. Be it out of habit or fear, Philippa was still trying to take control, and while Triss would most definitely enjoy it any other time, she did wish for once, Philippa would trust her enough to take care of her and make her feel good.

_You don’t have to prove anything to me. You’ve done that enough already. I know you can. But you don’t have to. I love you. Let me be the one to prove something for you._

Another harsh exhale, and the hand tangled in her hair disappeared before it rested somewhat awkwardly on the sunken cheeks wet with desire, not to grab her by the chin to force eye contact, only to caress broodingly with knuckles.

“Very well,” said Philippa. She felt the sheets under her crinkle.

_Let go,_ said Triss, drinking everything the older woman had dripped for her hungrily. No matter how hard she licked like a kitten it was never enough, and Philippa’s desire seemed to stretch endlessly. _You don’t have to be afraid of losing control. You don’t have to be in control all the time. It’s okay. Someone can shoulder your burden. Together._

“Triss…”

She rose rather unceremoniously between thighs, moonlight painting her lower half of the face. Philippa was clearly upset by it, hand clutching at the sheets moments ago rising from the bed trying to rectify this act of disobedience. But she held up her end of the deal and let the hand fall back at the last second, glaring at her with imaginary looks, threatening her silently to return to her former position. Triss ignored her, her mind still blank from the cry, now forever etched on the deepest place of her memory. With limited imagination, she thought she knew the sexiest things in the world, the top three on the list easily connected to the woman in the same room with her, but she never, ever, imagined a moan of her name could readily overshadow anything she knew about the said woman.

Philippa was still glaring daggers at her, the lack of eyeballs only intensifying its venom, but she could only feel utter ecstasy. She could not say she fully anticipated where the night led, but she surely was not complaining as she laughed and climbed onto the other woman’s naked form to kiss her, relaxing brows knitted tightly with frustration, lips and teeth and tongues moving in languidness, enjoying every moment of it.

_Will I be able to hear more of that?_

_Don’t get cocky._

_You can punish me for it later if you’d like._

_Oh, I’d_ love _to. Now put your witty mouth back to where it belongs. You remind me of other people with this unpleasant quality, and even if it is not anything inappropriate, I’m afraid you’d hate me to think of other women now._

_Do you think_ I _should punish you for it?_

_MERIGOLD._

Triss laughed again, but she obeyed her as she slid back between her legs where everything was still messy from the warm kiss and previous activities to double her effort. Though without verbal confirmation, Philippa did loosen up significantly and no longer stingy with small sounds of pleasure, hips meeting her ministration wantonly. Her volume grew with her closeness to the precipice.

_You shouldn’t be concerned with showing your vulnerability by losing control. You’re breathtaking like this._ Triss did not stop her sincere words as she moved slightly up to make space to move for two fingers she just put into Philippa, who moaned again and almost threw her off the bed with a violent buckle of her hips. Wet walls closed upon her, warming her cold fingers, incoming high limiting her space notably that she could hardly fit into her second knuckles. She gave up on thrusting, instead she pushed further in to search with difficulty for the rough area to time the stimulation with a hard suck on the clit.

Either that or her whisper of _you’re doing great. Come for me. I love you_ did its trick. Philippa arched her back from the mattress, her legs on Triss’ shoulder tensed, heels digging into her shoulder blades, her name on the lips. Triss could not remember last time the way her name fell from the other woman’s lips sounded as satisfying as it did now. She was still whispering words of encouragement, her tongue never stopping, feeling her contracting around her fingers regularly.

When a hand landed on her hair again, she knew her service had ended. She pulled out with caution, earning herself a grunt, and tilted her head to kiss the inside of the still trembling legs.

"You little brat." she heard a pant, but without the delicious sting of shame when they were roleplaying. Triss climbed onto her on all four but did not kiss her, playing with strands of jet black hair wrapped around her fingers. She had a feeling she would shortly meet her brutal end that made whatever they were doing moments ago feel like lukewarm foreplay as soon as Philippa recovered a little, so she tried to enjoy the reprieve while she still could.

(Not that she was complaining, not really.)

A hand snaked around her waist abruptly and yanked her down, making her yelp and land on her face. She caught most of her weight with elbows and knees in time, but her face was buried between flushing and sweaty breasts. Triss raised her head intending to make a joke of it, but she realized with terror that the annoyance from losing total control over the situation vanished from Philippa’s face, and a vicious smirk marking the beginning of a long and suffering path ended with satisfying result took its stead. The hand resting idly on her waist turned into rude grasp with enough strength to cut off any space to maneuver, let along escape, and a muscular thigh propped between hers, reminding her of the utter disaster she had left there in the most shameful way.

"Phil…"

"Silence. I believe you have had your fill of speech."

The command in deep voice, familiar from erstwhile time, sent shivers through her body. She could feel the blatant threat kicking in, how its immediate effects spread across her hazy mind. Nails digging into her flesh as an afterthought, leaving no room for jest, and Triss could actually read the discipline behind a simple move. Though she was unsure if Philippa could see it now, she lowered her gaze nonetheless. A show of compliance.

"I’m sorry… mistress."

Another relic of the old days slipped between her lips naturally. Even for a name she had called upon countless times, it hardly succeeded in preventing heat from crawling up her cheeks, making her cower. But unlike all those countless of times, the free hand rested on her shoulder, kneading and pinching with light force until she slowly caught up to the signals and relax for a bit, but only for a bit. The limb between her legs never fully stopped, shifting and tensing when she almost forgot its existence, playing with the instrument the musician had mastered long ago, keeping her on the edge, wild and wanting. She did her best to refrain from making noises from the incessant stimuli for they were barely on the appetizer, but centuries of experience the older woman had on her only left her dashing down the road of failure in that regard.

"Easy, pet. You haven’t done anything wrong, not exactly." Philippa told her in a way not unlike a graceful and rich lady treating her muddy poodle. The body under her moved, the hand on her shoulder shifting to better support her upper body, then Philippa dragged her along until she was propped against the headboard. The hand on her waist never relented, leaving behind a numb pain, while the other returned and took hold of her chin, this time to really force her up, "you served me well and I am pleased. Albeit with rooms to improve. But no one can be perfect, now, isn’t?"

Triss knew how to properly respond. Partly because she was well-trained, but most of the time she was loath to admit this was her comfort zone. Being at the mercy of another turned her on, and whether it was her luck or tragedy, Philippa apparently was someone who enjoyed tremendously people being at her mercy. This was why they were always so good at this dance, this game, and the precise reason she kept trying to detach herself from it. They were _too_ good at it, too fit for the roles it almost felt fake, man-made. And since the older sorceress was most known for her infamous illusory spell, she did not trust herself if it turned out that everything she craved was a tailored illusion. Even reasonably speaking, she did not have much to be used; she might be talented, but she was also young, the youngest among all the court mages and the lodge. On the other hand, Philipp Eilhart was also infamous for her long games, and a plan with easily see-through motives would not be a good plan.

The only problem was that when she stepped into the dance floor again due to a slip of negligence, movements she knew by heart came crushing in waves, drowning out any will to escape. She could only close her eyes and prayed that the current would take her somewhere not entirely bad, and that the process was pleasant enough to compensate for the inevitable heartbreak in the end.

—Or maybe, just maybe, this time things could be different?

"But we can always strive for perfection, mistress. And y-you are a good teacher. I wish to learn from you."

"Good girl."

Triss inhaled sharply, teeth gritted together to push out the mind-numbing pleasure of an uncompromising hand guiding her to ride her mistress’ thigh brazenly, painting dark skin with clear liquid, but not the action itself. She wanted to be good. Nothing could outclass being called a good girl by the sultry voice of her mistress, the exact reason she did not wish to surrender too soon. She was trained better than that, and anything below that was unacceptable and would most likely incur real punishments, ones that with pain she may not enjoy. As a result, even when every inch of her skin was burning with desire, even when she wished desperately to grind down harder and to further tarnish the perfect thigh, she managed to show astonishing control and let the extent of Philippa’s movements determine how much she could get. The other sorceress’ amused and gratified smile made her feel that everything was worth it.

"Hold onto my shoulders."

She did as told.

"Pleasure yourself with my body."

"Ph-mistress…" The redhead implored with pleading eyes in futility. She did not move, even when the guiding hand retreated and she was given clear permission.

She couldn’t, and Philippa knew that.

Taking the initiative may be what a sorceress should always do, but when it came to love, most of the time it could only land herself right into a disadvantage. People—men and women alike—were too proud and complacent with what was offered to them on a silver plate to truly treasure it. At first, Triss tried to settle for it, that it meant no harm to anyone if it was only limited to bedrooms, but life seldom went as people wished. She wanted to convince herself it was fine, that even if she was merely an interlude between their legal and gods-appointing spouses she did get what she wanted, yet empty words failed her. Then Philippa showed up, willing to win her heart as a humble chaser, took good care of her and arranged everything for her. For the first time, she felt wanted, needed, an experience so scarce for her even now. This was exactly why the only person who ever made decisions for her wanting to take back the initiative, even if it was just in bed and everything was just a game, only provoked quickly expending fear.

"Are you begging shamelessly with your puppy eyes again?"

"…No?" Her voice was small and filled with uncertainty. To be honest, from the way tonight had progressed, she half-expected Philippa would slow down and take a breather, at least until she was sure that she was alright, but the older woman outright laughed at her, cheerful yet cruel, full of enjoyment from the evildoing she was no doubt about to conduct on her, and Triss did not know how to process it. Philippa did not rush her with physical movement anymore, but the ever-present threat emitting from her was enough of a bad omen.

"Are you deaf? Do as I said then."

She still did not move.

She could end everything right now with a simple word. A kill switch planted so deep in her mind that she could use it in the most delirious state. If she said it, even when Philippa said she would literally die if she did not come soon as she had once joked about it, everything would come to a halt. No additional clauses, no unsavory consequences. Time did not erase this from her memory. She still had it, and she was damn sure the rules still applied as well. She never used it, granted, but she knew how it would end. This was her own weapon, her last line.

Triss said nothing and lowered her head once more, eyes shut, waiting for her sentence.

"Very well." Vile venom seeped into every word. She felt a flash of light behind her fluttering eyelids and the magical shift in the air. She trembled, half from expectation, half from fear.

Then she felt something hard and cold sliding against the apex of her thighs, barely registered from all the residual fluid there. Confused, she opened her eyes before she completely froze upon laying her gaze on it. Genuine panic seized her throat roughly and made her forget everything, forget the game they were supposed to be playing and its rules.

"Philippa!"

"Isn’t it better with something familiar? I bet you are way more experienced with objects of this shape." Triss was uncertain exactly which one was making her stomach clench in knots so tight she almost threw up, the magical cock glowing a warm orange light between the older woman’s legs or her careless words when she knew how deep each of them could hurt. Philippa gave it a few lazy pumps to evenly distribute the wetness over it, but her face did not show the slightest of the pleasure, so it was not the magical appendage they occasionally used that allowed her to feel it as well, and it only made her heart sink further.

It was not the method of intercourse she was opposed to now, the shape of a male genital possessing its own way to please, but the bearer of the item. Philippa was testing her bottom line that could not afford to be tested, maybe even her biggest weakness: that everyone was just taking advantage of her from being kind to her, and she was a throwaway when she bore no use to them. Her lack of self-esteem had always been the greatest burden on her development. She sought the comfort of any sort like a child devoid of love, and however long they may last, they certainly were more reassuring than whatever was happening right now.

Then her gaze landed on Philippa’s hand, more and more hesitant and eventually stilled completely, and things began to clear up. Philippa _knew,_ maybe even better than herself, but she still reached out to embrace everything fragile and imperfect about her while framing it as a game, the same way she did moments ago. Their awkwardness in this was ironically identical, playing a tacit game while remembering to leave some room no matter how sincere a gesture could be, low expectation so that it would end not as terrible. That was why she knew Triss was uncomfortable right now but did not break her character to promise her everything would be alright. It would only sharpen the impression that she was a child needing constant supervise and reassurance, pushing her deeper into self-hatred.

This assumption was further confirmed when a silver of barely recognizable relief flashed across her face after Triss finally nodded slightly before murmuring "alright", remembering Philippa could not see.

"Alright, _what?"_

"Alright, mistress."

"Good girl." Phillipa grinned in a way that made her heart flutter and constrict at the same time, palm caressing the side of her waist back and forth, the final gentle touch before the storm, "sit."

*

Triss was crying.

It was not the soundless weeping, nor was it a desperate howl. It was something in between, incessant sobs mixed with an occasional sniffle. Like a child watching helplessly as some rascals willfully took away her favorite toy, and the only thing she could do was to crawl back into a corner and wipe her face with a piece of dirty cloth.

Triss was crying like this, only that she was wet in more place than her pretty face contorting in pleasure bordering on pain. The moon had risen to its peak, the biting chill interwoven with desire in the air, but there was streams of sweat all over her deliciously pink chest, freckled shoulders and back, blue-veined temples, and throat wrapped in soft black leather. A crudely-made but sturdy metallic handcuff bound her fisted hands together behind her back, palms filled with blood spilled from where rough metal dug into tiny wrists. Of course, the most overflowing place all over her body was between her thighs where she was swallowing the monstrosity with difficulty, sticky liquid dripping down exhausted muscles onto linen sheets, some even splattered on her abdomen from more brutal movements, the sight as wanton as it could be. Time had lost its meaning. How long had she been riding her mistress’ cock? An hour? Two? The space between every second only extended the longer she was under great stimulation with no permission to come. She was vocal at the beginning, flushing at the new invading sensation and the shame of seeking pleasure; now her dry throat was incapable to produce the tiniest of moan, only infrequent whimpers and tear stain all over her face accusing the cruelty of the wearer.

Philippa, on the other hand, was wholeheartedly enjoying this, back leaned against the headboard, flicking pink nipples on the bouncing breasts when she felt like it, other hand kept on her waist pulling her close, appreciating the pretty view in front of her. Just like Triss had noticed when she was more conscious, she did not feel the appendage the same way a man did, though she could and she had done something like this in the past. It appeared that she planned to remain clear-headed, thrusting up for mischief, licking her lips relishing every sound like a big cat playing with her food, or dragging exhausting little one across with the thin chain connected to her collar, pressing sloppy kisses on lips that were too out of focus to properly return in kind.

"Cease your weeping, pet. Didn’t your rectoress teach you how pathetic it was for a sorceress to cry?"

Triss wanted to apologize—damn her for actually reaching this course of action first— but Philippa, always so calculated, turned her initial words into a hoarse moan with an extremely vicious buck of her hips. She did not know how much longer she could last. She felt like a power ket with its fuse lighted then stomped out repeatedly, and she was uncertain if she could take what came next after the explosion. So she closed her eyes, hauling her thoughts onto any distraction from rough hands wandering across her body leaving trails of fire behind. Unpleasant memories. Frostbite-ridden hands soaked in buckets filled with icy water; leather belt leaving rising welts on marred skin, as terrifying as a lethal python; kicked out of the house like an unwanted disease, strange blonde woman’s grip on her bony wrist hard enough to hurt; stern voice scolding her, laughing at her disappointment, not unlike what was happening right now…

The ruthless smile on the older woman’s face hesitating, she was worried enough to actually stopped their role play this time. "Triss, when I said you are not allowed to come until I tell you so, I did not explicitly ask you to tap into painful memories to—"

Triss did not let her finish. She couldn’t. Another tear that had nothing to do with any of the carnal sensations she was experiencing right now slid across her face. _It’s alright, mistress,_ she whispered, choking down another sob, _I enjoy pain, even more so when it is given by you._

She did not speak again, at least not verbally, after they officially started. Part of the game, it was. They probably did not start on the best of terms, so Triss strived to be good whenever she could.

The silence stretched out for a while longer, then her mistress adjusted her sitting position on top of the crackling mattress, the massive cock tugging at her sensitive spot inside, temporarily blinding her. Strong arms circled her again, pulling her close, boiling cheeks pressed against chest equally hot and sweaty, the only anchor in the ocean of pleasure. She cried out, peppering small kisses on any area of skin she could reach, before a tug on the chain of her collar yanked her away with renewed mercilessness.

"Now, let’s watch your mouth, or should we install a muzzle instead? I did not allow you to lean on me to stroke your ego. Keep that in mind."

_I’m—I’m sorry, mistress, I—_ As if everything she did was not enough, Philippa reached out between her legs, snuffing out words again. Thank the stars she did not touch Triss on the clit as both of them knew too well that the smallest touch could send her tumbling into the abyss, but she did explore what was exposed of her pussy with unyielding fingers in between violent thrusts, the lack of lights and inability to see more traditionally no longer a restriction for her. When she withdrew her fingers to spray it in front of her face, Triss knew better than to drop her gaze or bury her face in the olive chest, but the tint of flush spread all the way to the tip of her ears.

"Look at you," Philippa tsked, three fingers with clear liquid unforgiving as they pried her lips open, her other hand hauling at the thin chain keeping her in place, "humiliation and pain only turn you on, don’t they, you little slut? Tell me, how many times have you sat on top of a sorry excuse of some men unaware of the cheap substitute he is, pretending it was me doing things a thousand times dirtier to you?"

Breath ragged and chocking on her desire while cleaning with her tongue in confined space, Triss only felt light-headed and even more aroused. She was too familiar with Philippa in this state. Tender and affectionate care was absent in their sex life for as long as she could remember. Most of the time she could only stand by watching helplessly as the hurricane strutted near, swept her up high, and utterly destroy her inevitably. She probably should not like it as much as she did. Whether it was in address or behavior, Philippa trained her well as a real guard dog, except a guard dog yearning for her mistress’ collar and whips.

As if some kind of miracle, Philippa snapped her fingers with her free hand to relieve the shackle on her wrist out of blue. Despite the lack of outside force, Triss still locked her arms together, her wounds where blood mixed with sweat throbbing uneasily. Philippa might be ruthless, but she was consistent with it, and Triss could not be more informed about the iron rule to not move freely when the order to do so had not come. She did not stop her ride, eager tongue making sure every knuckle was free of juices before she tilted her head back to allow the fingers to retract, strings of translucent saliva attached at each end of it. Phillipa wiped her hand on the side of Triss’ proud 22 inches waistline and held her upright, pushing down on her shoulder to signal her to stop, inches away from orgasm and way pass the phase to be ashamed of anything. She whined softly, wobbly legs barely supporting her weight, so she was resolved to prop herself up by bottoming out, begging with teary eyes miserably.

"What an obedient little pet," Philippa told her with ease, accompanied by a hard tug on the chain. Triss tumbled forward, her muscles in abdomen tensed to prevent herself from falling into open embrace without permission.

_Mistress. Please._ She continued to implore with telepathy, unable to remember if she was explicitly permitted to speak but was not exactly explicitly forbidden to communicate by this conduit.

"Please what?" Philippa forged her tenderness by caressing Triss’ face, if not for the fact that she forced her to sit up with a harsh tug upward, changing the angle of the toy inside her with any shift in movement. Triss tried to reply with telepathy multiple times before she was abruptly cut off every time, her throat burning. Fortunately, Philippa finally took pity of her and let go of the chain to catch her hands behind her back and put them around her own shoulders for better support. If she saw the bloody wrists and regretted it, she did not betray her feeling apart from a brief glance, "you may speak now."

"—Let me come." Triss blurted out, without enough strength in her to properly swallow. Her throat was so dry that she almost tasted copper in her mouth, "…please. Mistress."

"Well, since you ask so nicely…" With a startled cry, Philippa pulled out unceremoniously after a few more mischievous pumps. Dazzled and with little will left to refrain from surrendering at the place paces away from the finish line after the long journey, Triss did not notice she was lowered gently onto the crumpled sheets with arms around her waist, hard bed plank rubbing at the raw wounds on the small of her back. She did not have time to writhe with frenzy like a fish out of water from the emptiness after being filled for such a long time before the cock of her mistress slid into her as suddenly as it left and moved with long inhibited feral instincts, knocking any remaining air out of her lungs. She wanted to scream but all she managed out of her cracked lips was a low croak.

"Count for me." She almost missed the barely audible command, warmth and prickle encircling her ears. Triss blinked her foggy azure eyes to refocus on the woman all over her, her entire world right now and too many other times as well, "let’s see how much you have declined the same way your taste did from the time apart."

"Mistress…"

_"Count."_

A hand on her belly stilled her buckling movement and climbed down. Triss trembled with expectation and fear, unable to collect a breath no matter how fast she was breathing to keep herself from drowning in sensation. But she held on, sobbing and stuttering as she counted from one, for it was the order she received.

She barely made it to fourteen.

The pale flash drowning everything out had nothing to do with the thunder exploding simultaneously outside the window. The numbing pleasure with an intensity not less than the first rainstorm in spring sprawled out from the tailbone and raged through the entire body uncontrolled, burning everything else to the ground. A deep and hoarse roar rolled over Triss’ throat at the attempt to scream out a mantra made of a name, primitive and animalistic. The most tender of a kiss in the course of their lovemaking blocked out the sound, coaxing out a new wave of tears irrelevant to the surging bliss. She replied with clumsiness and insistence until her mind was too heavy to accurately control her body, nails digging unconsciously yet sharply into the muscular back, hard enough to elicit a stifled moan, which was in turn swallowed by her, small ripples sparking off tremendous tides.

Philippa did not stop for a second, fucking her relentlessly throughout the crescendo even when the never-ending waves finally ended and pleasure bordered onto overstimulation. Triss, mildly recovered and without all her energy to speak, could only claw at her shoulder in protest, but her feeble movement did not cause any reaction. If anything, it even greatly stimulated her as the cock slammed into her with resupplied vigor.

The older sorceress caught her kicking legs to coil them around her waist and leaned down to bite on the flushing neck.

"I am not done with you, not in the slightest," she told her in a raspy voice, "you asked for orgasm yet you never specify to stop at the first one, nor was it ever my intention to do so."

Triss whimpered weakly, biting down on the back of her hand as she prayed wearily that she did not lose consciousness, the sweat on her temples, the tears on her face, and the blood on her wrist blending together smoothly.

*

She eventually passed out.

Triss was unsure if it was the blinding white flash outside the window sill that startled her out of her oblivious state, but the deafening roar following shortly after did make her wince a little to bump into another sweaty body. Thunder rolled further away, leaving pouring buckets smashing on the thatched rooftop and a warm, desire-filled cottage too comfortable to leave.

The concept of this word was enough to make her heart seize in her chest. Tired but satisfied from their sex marathon, she reached out languidly to wrap her arm around the woman next to her, making her turn around to better face her.

"I’m sorry," Philippa pushed a lock of wet hair away from her face, sounding barely apologetic. A smirk tugging at the corner of her lips proved it, "I was carried away. And too fucking good at this."

"Shut _up,"_ even her entire body was still pleasantly warm, Triss felt her cheeks heating up nonetheless when she feigned indignant by pushing her.

Philippa chuckled from the blush after hours of making love, but the smile turned into a frown when she noticed something. Her hand was on the damp cheek. Triss thought it was only from the tears at first, but after Philippa snugged in and kissed her face before pulling back again, with the help of the lightning outside, she saw scarlet smudges along with smeared lipsticks all over swollen lips. With a slight pang, Philippa took hold of her wrists, wounds still raw but at least no longer bleeding, and raised them to the eye level. Of course, she could not see; she did it for Triss to see. The injury was not bad, cuts in various depths of bloody blurs, and nothing major was hit. Triss could hardly feel them in the moment of passion, and only prickly thumps lingered after the adrenalin wore off. No doubt they would heal in no time. Still, Philippa kissed every tiny edge attentively and apologetically, replacing the feeling with an altogether different tingle. Triss refrained from shivering, excitement and exhaustion battling for domain across her body.

She really, really was too worn out for another round.

"I am sorry," Philippa told her in between peppered kiss, and she believed her, albeit a little amused at the unencessity of it. She did not turn down the gesture of goodwill since it was so rare.

"I was consent with the restrain. As a matter of fact, I prefer it, Phil." Triss reminded, taking in the bloodstain across her lips, imagining the feeling of wiping them clean with her own.

They exchanged some not-entirely-chaste kisses, but only because Triss was intentionally resisting any touches that were slightly out of what was acceptable for her. After the first orgasm, she was shoved face down on the girl’s poorly equipped vanity table and fucked harshly to her second one on top of wooden combs and scattered hair bands, Philippa’s soft breasts pressed against her back, her hair pulled back to be forced to watch her tearful self in the mirror getting completely ravaged. After a sparse moment of reprieve when Philippa was too thirsty to carry on, she managed to scavenge a half-emptied bottle of Everluse, probably too precious for the poor house owners to be so carelessly shared over countless messy and fierce kisses on a tattered rat skin carpet in front of the warm fireplace while Triss had her third orgasm all for herself, but they did anyway. They returned to bed some time later, Philippa rid of her magical toy claiming that she would help her _clean up the mess she made_ with her mouth but only adding more fuel to fire enough to burn down a city, the fourth one. And then… and then she legitimately lost count, though her memory did swirl into complete chaos from burnout and alcohol after at least the eighth.

Damn that woman and her "too fucking good at it".

"Phil, please… I really can’t…" Triss reached out, trembling, to still a hand sneaking up her waist, although it was more fun for the owner of the hand to watch her weakly decline than anything else.

"You were the one who declared it was Beltane," Philippa grunted with feigned exasperation, but wrapped her hand around her waist to pull her close nonetheless, "I simply intend to show you the things you would have missed were you with a _man,_ but I suppose in that case you won’t be half as spent."

A rush of agony seizing her chest, Triss clenched her jaw tightly. Part of her was even astonished that the warm and leisure atmosphere could morph into something so cold with sharp edges in such short notice. "Philippa. It’s not fair."

"We’re at wartime, pet," Philippa replied calmly, "nothing is fair in war."

"People often say that, do they not? Along with something else, of course. You know how it is."

"Triss…" The condescending tone returned with vengeance. Philippa spoke with no irk, only weariness, "why does everything have to mean something to you?"

"Why do they have to mean nothing to _you_?" Triss retaliated, "you can’t just pretend to be detached from the mortal world forever. What other names can you apply to us? You’ve said so yourself it was more than sex long ago, and I—!"

Philippa stopped whatever she tried to say with another kiss, her forehead pressed gently on hers.

"That’s enough, Triss," there was a hint of pleading in her voice, "just hold me and lie with me for the moment."

The rain grew heavier, pouring from the night sky hanging over with layers of inky clouds in waves. Thunders came and went, swift as a phantom, drowning out any possibility to talk, at least verbally.

_You know, Beltane really_ is _senseless._ Triss almost missed the mumble barely above a whisper in concentration, finding reassurance in the telltale raining sound. She raised her head from Philippa’s chest to look at her empty sockets in confusion. _The arrival of spring is senseless. It only heralds more endless rainstorms like this one to flood out miles of wheat field farmers rely on, who have worked their hearts out to feed their families. People only want an excuse to make it through another shitty year so that they do not end their own lives in despair._

_Philippa…_

_I’m sorry._ She apologized for the third time. _I’m sorry if I ever gave you any false hope. Maybe… maybe there is an unseen force toying with us, a powerful magical existence beyond our control, beyond anyone’s, really, or maybe we only have ourselves to blame. None of these matter in the end, do they? We will still part company on the first break of dawn with old and new scars and all of it was and always will be senseless._

_Philippa…_

_I am so sorry…_

_Phil!_

_Yes?_

_Kiss me._

_Okay._

They kissed, without the knowledge of their hasty departure in an hour when witch hunters swarmed the village barking questions and threats door by door, a herd of pigs now piles of cleanly picked bones from their encounter with wolves pack in the woods, magical firework of Beltane forever a romance of the former generation. Because none of those mattered at this moment. In the dim room underneath the damp rooftop, warm body against body, lips on lips, skin on skin, as if it could last all the way till eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr is https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sorceressesruntheworld and I post sorceresses stuff every now and then


End file.
